15

A great black gash in the green veldt was all that remained of the old Imperial port of D'Lin. Its buildings had long ago been scrapped, leaving only the duraplast landing field to stand against the years. Save for the delicate network of cracks lacing it, the field stood undamaged by the centuries, mute witness to the durability of Imperial technology.

The AIs' processing center sat in the middle of the broad field, rising from the plain as one approached. Zahava and L'Kor stood, hanging onto the canopy frame and looking over the truck cab toward the center, now perhaps a half mile away down the deserted two-lane road.

Zahava had been expecting Dachau—what she saw was understated but just as chilling: five low, square white buildings, surrounded by a fence, shining beneath the early morning sun. A white flag with a green circle flew over the center building. The gate was closed and guarded by two sentries wearing the same uniform as L'Kor and his troopers.

"Health and Healing," said the major, looking at the flag.

They'd stolen the truck from two goods drivers and they'd left the men tied by the roadside. Then they'd piled into the back. G'Sol at the wheel and S'Lat beside her, they'd driven through the last of the night. Zahava had tried to sleep, but the uneven road surface and the everlasting humidity had kept her awake through most of the ride, sweating and worrying—worrying about John, worrying about Implacable, worrying about D'Lin and this frail expedition. Exhausted, she'd finally slumped against L'Kor, sleeping the last few miles as dawn came and they left the rain forest behind.

The major had awakened as they'd passed twenty-four lavender school buses, empty save for the drivers, headed back to the city.

L'Kor slid open the back window to the cab. "Right through," he said. "Hard and fast, as planned." G'Sol nodded, eyes on the road.

L'Kor turned back to his unit. "Positions," he ordered, bracing the now-familiar blastrifle against the cab roof. Zahava did the same. The troopers knelt, facing outward, weapons steadied along the hard wooden benches, the muzzles protruding just below the canopy hem.

The sentries stopped patrolling as the truck approached, unslinging their rifles. They relaxed as the truck slowed, then died as Zahava and the major opened fire. The sentries' bodies sparked blue as the blaster bolts tore through them, slamming back against the gate.

"AIs!" Zahava shouted as they rammed through the gate and into the compound.

Sirens warbled, sounding the alert as the truck careened toward the center building. More AIs in D'Linian uniform appeared, blasting away at the truck. The trooper behind Zahava pitched suddenly backward, half his face blown away.

The truck screeched to a halt, the troopers charging over the tailboard, firing, running for the building. L'Kor and Zahava scrambled over the top of the cab, sliding to the ground as three AIs burst out of the building, pistols in hand. There was a quick exchange of blaster bolts, Zahava briefly blinded by a fierce, green bolt flashing past her eyes.

She felt a hand on her arm, lowering it from her face. "It's ail right," came the major's voice. "We got them."

The shrill of the blasters had stopped. Zahava looked around, her vision clearing. About fifteen AIs littered the compound, bodies still smoldering from the blaster hits. Three troopers were dead, two beside the truck, the other with the AIs at the foot of the stairs. The alarm siren was still screaming.

"Is that it?" she asked, turning to the major. But he was kneeling beside the truck cab, cradling G'Sol's body in his arms. There was a big charred hole through the captain's chest.

"The kids are inside—they're fine," called Lieutenant S'Lat from the doorway. "All secure. We ..." She stopped when she saw the scene by the cab.

Shit, thought Zahava. She turned to the lieutenant. "Anyone else know where the tube entrance is?" she asked, looking out at the long miles of duraplast.

S'Lat shook her head. Around her, directed by the last NCO, troopers were setting the demolition charges along the other two buildings.

"What are your orders, Major?" asked the lieutenant gently, an arm to L'Kor's shoulder.

The major stood, wiping his face with a dirty shirt sleeve. He took a deep breath. "Into the main building, as planned. We'll fight to the end. Better the kids should die with us than be sent off to eternal slavery. Sergeant H'Sak!"

The NCO turned. "Sir?"

"Command detonation on those charges. Run your wires up to the roof of this building.'' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "We'll make our stand there."

H'Sak gave a quick nod, then turned, shouting orders.

Following the D'Linians into the building, Zahava looked skyward. It won't be long now, she thought.

Y'Gar looked up as the door to his private dining room opened. U'Kal came in quickly and walked to the desk. He stood, looking down at the fat middle-aged man. The exarch's mouth was half full of the lightly seasoned k'nor hen. "Yes?" he said, lowering the drumstick and wiping his fingers on the napkin covering his lap.

"A force of your soldiers, armed with K'Ronarin Fleet weapons, has seized the processing center. A warship of the K'Ronarin Confederation has just entered this system— more may follow."

"So?" said Y'Gar, sipping wine.

"So I'm seizing two thousand of your citizens and removing them to our processing ship," said U'Kal. "There will be violence, of course, and we'll suffer casualties. But we're out of time."

"Have you given the order yet?" asked Y'Gar, finishing his wine.

"I will the instant I leave this room," said the AI commander.

"Then you won't be leaving this room," said the exarch. His right hand held a small pistol, pointed at the AI.

U'Kal smiled. "You can't hurt me, Y'Gar. I'm command grade and blaster-shielded."

"Look again," said the exarch, pointing to the number "3" etched into the weapon's grips.

The AI blinked. "Of the Revolt? You?"

Y'Gar nodded.

"Impossible. That was tens of thousands of years ago. Nothing lives that long, not even in suspension."

"You lived that long," said the exarch.

"I'm a machine," said the AI. "You . . ." He was suddenly staring at a young, blond man, dressed in a white jumpsuit.

The transmute stared back at him, amused. "Familiar?" he asked. "But how?"

The transmute spoke one word, then fired as the AI nodded in comprehension.

When U'Kal's guards entered, a few seconds later, they found their leader immobilized and the exarch gone.

"Who the hell are they?" said D'Trelna, leaning over K'Raoda and peering at the tacscan of the ships orbiting D'Lin. L'Wrona stood on the other side of the first officer.

"They appear to be armed merchantmen, Commodore," said K'Raoda, making an adjustment. Augmented data trailed across the small screen. "X'Ankar-class—armed to the earlobes with all sorts of illegals. Mark Eighty-eights, shipbusters. Not transmitting IDs."

"Combine T'Lan, of course," said R'Gal. The AI stood just behind K'Raoda. "Waiting for the vanguard of the Fleet of the One."

"Yes, but why?" said the commodore, turning to R'Gal. "We faced an AI ship off Terra Two—only a miracle saved us. Why would those ships need a vanguard? I could understand one or two ships, bearing intelligence data, but a flotilla?"

"Obviously, there's something on that planet they want," said L'Wrona. "A mission-critical-something."

D'Trelna's fist slammed down on his chairarm. "Harvesting! They're brainstripping those people! It's got to be."

"Of course," said R'Gal. "D'Lin is the key to everything—the Trel Cache, the rendezvous point for the AIs, and Zahava's destination. Which means ..."

"Guan-Sharick knows all this and set it up," said the commodore. "Why send Zahava there?"

"We'll find out soon, I think," said R'Gal, looking back at the tacscan.

"They've made us," said K'Raoda. On the main screen, the tacscan showed the Combine ships breaking orbit, heading out to intercept Implacable.

"Hmm. Eighteen of them," said D'Trelna. "Not good."

"Notice how one ship remains on station," said R'Gal. "That's their command ship;—probably their processing ship, too. We should take it."

" 'We'?" said L'Wrona, joining the conversation.

"How many demonstrations of my sincerity and goodwill do you need, Captain?" said R'Gal.

"Later," said D'Trelna, eyes back on the tacscan. "R'Gal's right, H'Nar—that's the ship we want. It'll answer a lot of questions." He looked at the captain. "Do you tell N'Trol, or do I?"

"You're going to get us all killed!" The monitor captured perfectly the red-flushed tint of N'Trol's face. "To tight-jump is dangerous enough, but to tight-jump in toward a planetary mass . . . ! The gravitational distortion alone . . ."

"How long to cycle up?" asked D'Trelna.

Calming, the engineer took a deep breath. "Not long," he said. "I'll set it in myself and give you the count. You'll have to drop shield."

"I know," said D'Trelna. But the comm screen had already flicked off.

The counterattack came at noon—a solid phalanx of AI blades sweeping out of the sun, blasting and slicing their way along the rooftop. Spread in a ragged circle around Major L'Kor, the troopers blasted back, hitting six of the lead machines. Efficient butchers to the end, the little horrors plowed into the roof, exploding in an orange whoosh! of flame, sharp pieces of wreckage slicing into the humans.

For Zahava it was all automatic—aim, fire, turn. Aim, fire, turn. Watching the sky, she only looked around her when the firing stopped and the air was empty of gleaming blue blades.

She and Major L'Kor stared numbly at each other across the carnage. The rooftop lay littered with the torn bodies of dead troopers and the smoldering remains of their killers. Blood trickled among the blaster marks scorching the green duraplast, dripping into the rain gutters.

The Terran touched something sticky on her forehead— blood from a shallow gash. "Are we the only ..." she began.

"Except for S'Lat, who's inside with the children," nodded the major. His left arm was useless, the triceps neatly sliced and cauterized by a blaster bolt. He was holding one of the two Mil A pistols Zahava had taken from the lifepod.

"Go down with the children," he said, clumsily trying to change chargpaks. The empty fell to the rooftop.

"Ass," said the Terran. "Give me that." She held out a hand for the Mil A. L'Kor grinned weakly, handing it over. Deftly, Zahava took a fresh chargpak from her belt and snapped it into the butt, then returned the weapon.

"How many did we get?" she asked.

"Thirty, maybe forty," said the major. "I don't think they had many more of them." He looked at the sky. "What next?"

"Shuttles, probably," said Zahava, reloading her own weapon. "They underestimated us once—they won't do it again. They'll stand off and blast us. They really want those kids."

"Well, they're not going to get them," said L'Kor. Tucking the blaster into his belt, he took a flat, metal device with a single toggle switch in its center. "Here," he said, handing it to Zahava. "When it's inevitable, throw the switch." He looked up at the sky, eyes carefully avoiding his dead friends.

"Are you certain G'Sol told you nothing about where the tube entrance is?" she asked.

"No," he said dully. "My fault. I should have—"

"My, this is a grim sight," said a new voice. "Praetorians on the Capitoline, awaiting the End. Perhaps I can be of some help."

"They're close enough now, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, watching the board. "Well past halfway. They'll need to slow, turn, reaccelerate." He nodded. "Tell N'Trol."

In a moment the engineer's voice filled the bridge, counting down slowly from twenty.

"Gunnery," D'Trelna said into the commnet as the count dropped, "I want that ship intact. Disable, do not destroy. You got that B'Tul?"

"Acknowledged," said the master gunner.

Will it ever end? wondered D'Trelna, awaiting the jump— these deathless monsters from the past, some of our own making? Biofabs, mindslavers, AIs. Seven, no, eight years in this great gray cocoon. Battle after battle, crisis after crisis. Friends dead, family old, children growing up unseen-—images flickering in the comm screen and voices broken with distortion, straining to span the abyss.

"Ten," droned N'Trol.

"Final orders?" requested L'Wrona formally.

"Engage as directed," said D'Trelna.

"Jump," said N'Trol.

Reality twisted, breaking Implacable into something that wasn't quite matter and moving it halfway across the solar system, where, more by luck than planning, it reassembled ship and crew.

Stomach churning, D'Trelna recovered to watch the fusion batteries neatly strip the Combine ship of its shield nodules and weapons batteries.

"Who is this?" said Major L'Kor, pointing at the blonde.

"This, Major," said Zahava, "is Guan-Sharick, late Illusion Master of the Infinite Hosts of the Magnificent. Guan-Sharick, Major L'Kor, of the One Hundred and Third Border Battalion. Guan-Sharick is actually a six foot tall, telekinetic green bug," she added.

"A biofab," said L'Kor, looking curiously at the flaxen hair, soft green eyes, and the swell of breasts beneath the jumpsuit. "Hard to believe."

"I know where the tube entrance is," said the S'Cotar, gaze shifting between the two humans. "And I'll guide you there—for a price."

Movement caught Zahava's eye; she looked up. Three black specks were approaching out of the eastern sky. L'Kor and Guan-Sharick followed her gaze.

"Armed shuttles from the AI ships," said the S'Cotar. "Decision time."

"What's the price?" asked Zahava.

"Your help," said Guan-Sharick quickly. "I need your help, Zahava, just for a little while."

The Terran glanced back at the sky. The outlines of shuttles were now distinguishable and growing larger.

"As usual, you leave no other options," she said, hating the bug, yet admiring its cleverness. Zahava shrugged. "Whatever you want. Just get the—"

The S'Cotar and the two humans were gone, leaving the roof to the dead and the growing whine of incoming shuttles.

' 'The commodore should not be exposing himself to—'' said L'Wrona.

"Best get back to the bridge, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, checking his blaster again. "You've no warsuit."

Snaring the smaller ship in its tractors, Implacable had drifted in, matching velocities. A boarding tunnel had shot out from the cruiser, fastening itself to the Combine ship's topside forward airlock. Warsuited commandos were now at the other end of the narrow span, slowly cutting through the thick battlesteel of the AI ship's airlock. Looking much like a great silver balloon, D'Trelna watched through Im-placable's open airlock, the rest of the commandos waiting behind him, warsuited, rifles in hand.

"I want that ship, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, looking at the captain. "I need hard data. Is R'Gal telling the truth, or is he just an AI plant? What's the extent of the AI penetration of our society? The information will be in that computer bank." He pointed to where blaster beams sparked against the steel. "I want it."

"But—" The captain broke off, touching his communicator. "On my way," he said. "Those Combine ships are closing," he said. "You'll have to be out of there before they're within range. Luck," he said, turning and running for the bridge.

"Luck," D'Trelna called after him.

"We're through, sir!" called a voice. As D'Trelna looked, the airlock's inner door turned an incandescent white, vanishing in a rush of thick, brown smoke. Blaster bolts shot through the smoke, striking the K'Ronarins. The bolts crackled blue along the silver suits, then were gone. Blasting back, the commandos sent a fierce counterbarrage crashing back through the smoke.

"Assault!" shouted D'Trelna, leading the charge into the Combine ship.

They'd told John to keep out of the way; they'd tell him if they heard anything from the planet. He'd tried to read, using the complink in his and Zahava's cabin—it was no good, he couldn't concentrate. As a well-written history of the early Empire scrolled past, he thought again of stealing a shuttle, going down and finding Zahava. Problem was, he couldn't fly the damned thing. Even if he could, where would he go? The bridge hadn't been able to pinpoint the location of the distress signal.

Helpless, frustrated, he rose and paced the living area.

"No balm in Gilead, Harrison?" said Guan-Sharick.

John whirled. The S'Cotar sat in an armchair, legs crossed, smiling.

"I have your wife," continued the blonde before John could speak. "And I need the help of both of you."

"Where is she?" demanded the Terran, advancing on the armchair.

"Safe," said the S'Cotar. The smile was gone. "She's agreed to help—there isn't much time. Will you give me your parole? You won't try to sabotage what I'm doing?"

"What are you doing?" asked John.

"What I'm supposed to do," said the S'Cotar. "Stop the AIs."

"At what cost?" said the Terran, looking into those cold eyes.

"At any cost," said Guan-Sharick.

It took two blastpaks, but they finally punched a hole in the armored doors guarding the Combine ship's bridge. D'Trelna's warsuit took a hit as he stepped through. Firing from the hip, the commodore shot the two human-looking crewmen. He grunted as they exploded in a very satisfying shower of sparks. As more commandos surged into the bridge, D'Trelna looked down at the dead AIs—both wore the uniform of merchant officers, the Combine T'Lan crest on the left shoulder.

There'd been a brief, vicious fire fight at the airlock, D'Trelna losing two commandos. The ten AIs who'd opposed them had fallen to the first blaster volley. The commodore was relieved to see none of the flying blade machines among the enemy—only the androids.

Sending half of his force to secure the rest of the ship, D'Trelna had advanced with the rest down the corridor to the bridge, reaching it unopposed.

The commodore's communicator beeped. "What?" he said, walking to the captain's station.

"You'll have to get out of there now, J'Quel," said L'Wrona. "They're coming within range."

"Just a moment," said the commodore. Slipping off his gauntlets, he fingered the complink. It was the standard model used on merchant ships—unchanged since his trader days. Working quickly, he called up the complete mission summary and background briefing, flagging them for highspeed transmission on a Fleet data frequency.

He touched his communicator. ''Implacable, D'Trelna. Stand by to receive databurst, your alpha data channel." Hearing the acknowledgment, he pushed Execute.

"None left, Commodore." It was Lieutenant S'Til, standing in the shattered doorway, the big blastrifle balanced over her shoulder.

"You mean you didn't find any more, or you did and they're dead?"

"They're dead," she said.

"Good," nodded D'Trelna. He looked back at the console-—the transmission had ended, the receive light was winking green.

"Something else, sir," said S'Til.

He looked up. "What?"

"Brainpods," she said. "The hold is filled with brainpods."

"All occupied?"

"Yes."

D'Trelna nodded slowly, picking up his gauntlets. "That should do it—let's go home. Everyone back to Implacable.'' "And the brainpods?"

"Leave them."

John had been teleported by a S'Cotar before—he still found it staggering. One second, and he was standing in his quarters, looking down at Guan-Sharick; the next, he stood blinking in some dim cavern, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through his body. Peering about, he saw that the light came from around a bend of what was a great round tunnel, carved through bedrock.

"Where are we?" he demanded, voice sounding hoarse.

"About half a mile down—the remains of an old tube system of D'Lin," said the blonde. "The metal was scavenged after the Fall." She pointed to old gouges along the walls and floor. "Now pull yourself together, and we'll go visit your wife and the kids."

"Kids?" said the Terran as the S'Cotar led the way around the bend.

John threw his hands over his face as battletorch beams blinded him. Then he found himself clutching a warm, buxom body. Zahava.

"You're okay?" he asked, holding her at arm's length, looking her up and down.

"Of course," she said, kissing him.

It was then that he saw the children sitting along the walls, silent, watching. And the other S'Cotar.

"We still have time to get away," said L'Wrona. He and D'Trelna stood in front of the big board, watching the tactical plot. The Combine ships were coming in at flank. "They'll be launching missiles soon," he continued when the commodore didn't reply. "The shield—"

"We stand," said D'Trelna, turning from the board. "If we don't, they'll finish whatever hellish business they were doing down there." He sat down in his chair and dialed up a fata.

"If we stand," said L'Wrona softly, "we die."

D'Trelna sipped and shrugged. "We've cheated death a long time now, H'Nar."

"Excuse me, Commodore," said K'Raoda. "Commtorps launched. Ninety-nine point eight percent chance they'll hit jump before they can be intercepted."

"Thank you, T'Lei," said D'Trelna. He looked back at the captain. "Everything's in those torps, H'Nar. Fleet will be warned—they'll smoke Combine T'Lan and continue the search for the Trel Cache."

"Wrong," said a different voice. Both men turned. R'Gal stood behind the commodore's chair. "You underestimate the depth of infiltration, gentlemen. Combine T'Lan's influence is pervasive. Your report will either be dismissed or lost, Commodore. Your only hope is to break off now, jump for K'Ronar, and sound the alarm."